


Let your colours bleed (And blend with mine)

by Xenomorphic



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Confused Dwarves, Fantasy, Fluff (I think), Interracial Relationship, M/M, POV Multiple, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-07
Updated: 2016-06-07
Packaged: 2018-07-12 19:04:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7118722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xenomorphic/pseuds/Xenomorphic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hobbits glow whenever they are happy. Of course Gandalf forgot to tell the dwarves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let your colours bleed (And blend with mine)

**Author's Note:**

> This is weird let me tell ya.  
> I do not own The Hobbit, or anything related to it. If I did there would've been more dragons. Nice dragons.  
> Tittle comes straight out of Of Monsters And Men's Crystals.  
> Each section (Roman numerals?) is from a different character's POV.

I

They learn an awful lot of things about hobbits, or maybe only about Bilbo Baggins, during the first leg of their journey. For instance, hobbits are fussy little creatures that eat more than Bombur, and as much as they like tending to ponies, they don’t seem to enjoy riding on them. Also, they are highly suspicious of strangers – though they aren’t much better, really – and have no combat skills whatsoever. But the awkwardness and self-isolation might be personal traits, rather than a quirk shared by the whole race. It isn’t like they know much about hobbits, after all.

Bilbo always sleeps by the edge of the camp and is always the first or the last to bath whenever they find a spring, so he can be on his own – he avoided that one lake like the plague, but nobody commented on it –. He keeps mostly to himself, watching the flowers by the sides of their path, unless Ori or Bombur join him to chat about stories or recipes. He’s never the first to wake but neither is he the last, and would always wake up twice, at least, in the night, unaccustomed as he is to sleeping in the wilderness. The tips of his ears turn red whenever Bofur starts singing bawdy songs, but the young ones have caught him humming along to the ones he knows.

“You never sing with us,” Kili points out one morning, as they gather their belongings. Bilbo looks up at him from where he’s seated on the floor, his hair golden in the sunlight.

“Well, I’ve never paid much attention to those kinds of songs, you see,” and at Kili’s face he adds, “not that there’s anything wrong with them. Just, not interested, that’s all.” He gives him a sheepish smile then, so the dwarf answers with a grin. It’s hard to ignore Bilbo’s smiles, as honest and warm as they are.

“Then what kinds of songs do you like?”

Bilbo thinks for a moment, his pack forgotten on his lap. He didn’t bring much, and Kili doubts any of it is gonna be of much help come the colder days. Maybe Ori could knit something? They could always rope Dori into-

“The kind of song you sang that night in my home.”

Kili stares in surprise and then looks around, seeing that nobody – _Uncle_ – is paying attention to them. He hadn’t thought about the possibility of Bilbo listening to them that night, it simply hadn’t occurred to him or, likely, anyone else.

He considers the hobbit for a moment. He’s looking back at him with what might be reverence or admiration, and there’s this touch of innocence on his expression that makes it very difficult to hold any sort of resentment against him.

“I’ll see what I can do,” he replies with a final smile, a soft one, before joining Fili.

*

He approaches Bofur sometime before their lunch stop.

“Do you think you could sing the Ballad of Moria?”

The toymaker looks at him with some surprise, smoking as he considers him.

“Do you mean the version in Adûni? Why?”

Kili looks in Bilbo’s direction, somewhere in the middle of their line, discussing an elvish tale with Ori.

“Ah,” Bofur exclaims, following his gaze. “So, he really dislikes those songs, huh?”

“Not really, he even hums along, sometimes. But he might enjoy our more, well, historic songs? The ones about deeds and kings.”

The elder stays quiet, pondering, until he nods.

“Alright then, but later. It won’t do to interrupt his conversation with dear Ori.”

“They do seem passionate about it.”

*

“What are you up to?”

Fili is seated to his left, and he has that look on his face, the one that’s equal parts curiosity and exasperation. He just grins.

“You’ll see.”

And sure, not an hour after they resume their journey Bofur starts humming the familiar tune, soon followed by Nori, who must know, the way he knows things about Bofur that nobody knows, and isn’t that suspicious. Kili joins shortly after Ori and Fili simply shrugs, a gentle smile curling his lips.

He watches Bilbo closely, measuring his reactions. He can’t see his face, but he can notice his body relaxing, more and more, as the melody turns into a song, and then into an anthem. And he’s very still, so maybe he’s paying close attention as well.

If he notices anything unusual, he shrugs it off, blames the sunlight playing with his eyes and keeps singing.

II

Kili and Fili are the first to, somewhat, befriend their burglar. Bombur, Bofur and Ori all come second. He thinks it’s only natural: the princes are as friendly as Bofur, but are far less suspicious of strangers, like Ori himself. They are also very curious, so it was only a matter of time before they approached Bilbo with inquiries about hobbit clothing and houses – _smials_ –, just as Ori as well.

“So, you have below _and_ above ground constructions,” and Bilbo hums in affirmation. “Is there any sort of, let’s say, distinction?”

“Well, monetary speaking, yes.” Bilbo cocks his head to the left, the way he does when he’s mulling over his words. “In that sense, we have three types of constructions,” and then he goes on a tangent about hobbit holes, and hobbit houses, and the great smials and so. It’s all very instructive and Ori likes it.

Ori likes Bilbo. He fusses over him, but he doesn’t smother him the way Dori does, and has none of the old elf-hatred all dwarves seem to share in him. Bilbo actually likes elves, which gives him the opportunity to have someone to share stories with.

He just wishes everyone else could see Bilbo for who he is, a gentle, caring and carefree creature, untainted by prejudice and prone to smile and laughter.

“That seems rather stressful,” Ori comments once Bilbo finishes his explanation with a mention of the Great Smials and Brandy Hall.

The burglar turns to look at him, with open mouthed surprise, and there must be something about his own scrunched up face because then he’s, well, laughing. It’s a soft chuckle, but it’s honest and Ori likes it because there is no malice there, only innocent cheer, so he smiles along; although he can see Dori, glaring at the hobbit, from the corner of his eye.

And here’s one thing about Bilbo Baggins. Whenever he’s happy, or just honestly cheerful, he seems, well, lighter, or maybe clearer. It’s, ah, a rather difficult thing to explain, but the closest he can think of is that one time, during their first week on the road, when Bilbo had laid on the grass after eating his lunch, shrugging of his jacket and vest. “I’m basking in the light”, or some such, he’d told Fili. It had been as if the sunlight existed only for him: his curls – _so short!_ – had looked like molten gold and his face had seemed younger. He had looked like a drop of sun had fallen down to earth and had adopted the shape of a hobbit, as poetic and romantic as that might sound.

Sometimes he looked like that, and though he chalked it up to the sunlight playing tricks with his eyes at first, it was rather hard to dismiss when it happened at sunset, or when night fell and they were all seated around the fire and Bilbo’s surroundings seemed slightly brighter.

He doesn’t tell a soul about it.

III

Their good luck doesn’t last for long.

One night, three days after they sing the Ballad of Moria, they meet mountain trolls, and after that comes running from orcs and wargs, and as _dubious_ as the man looks, they are very thankful of Radagast’s aid. But then there’s Rivendell and even though he has no personal quarrels with the elves, and the beds are a blessing, he could do without having to sneak out, in the middle of the night and using Gandalf as a diversion as if they were all thieves, as if they were like Nori – Nori must enjoy it though, outsmarting the elves –.

So begins their trek to the Misty Mountains, and they continue it very much the same way they had traveled so far, minus the ponies, and Dori feels a newfound admiration towards their burglar. It’s not as if he’s a particularly good traveler, since he grows tired sooner than most of them, but he doesn’t complain, he just keeps walking while munching on some berries or a carrot, and all of it without any shoes!

“We, ah, don’t really need those. Unless there’s mud or snow involved, that is.”

And Dori would try to comfort him, for he does look rather embarrassed about the subject, but, the truth is, some embarrassment won’t hurt the gentlehobbit if it helps him leave his comfort zone, open up some more to them. And _that_ would help with the rest of the group opening up to him in return. Not Thorin though, that would take nothing short of Bilbo sacrificing himself for him. _Well_.

“And does it rain or snow much in the Shire?”

Ori is walking a handful of steps before them, but he seems to have taken up the habit to pay attention to whatever come out of Bilbo’s mouth. Dori needs to have a talk with him about it.

“Not really. It rains some during autumn and spring, but they’re more like drizzles; and it snows a handful of times near Yule.”

Ori nods and they keep walking in silence.

*

It’s all very comfortable, Dori finds. They’re traveling through high ground and the sights are lovely, and the grass is gentle with their feet. It’s the sort of place where one can find peace and quiet and never grow tired of it.

Bilbo seems to appreciate it as much as he does, he notes when the hobbit sits by the edge of the camp that night, alone, staring at the landscape.

“Odd fellow,” Bifur comments to them, but there’s fondness in his voice.

Gloin, however, is not so kind to the hobbit. “More of a nuisance, I say. I have nothing against him, but he’s just not cut out for this journey.”

Ori speaks from Dori’s side. “Why?”

His younger brother is usually very quiet and withdrawn, so it’s understandable that Bifur, Bofur, Dwalin and, particularly, Gloin stop and stare at him, calmly knitting what seems to be a sweater, when he speaks up.

“Well,” the red haired dwarf starts once he recovers from the surprise. “Firstly, he’s a gentle and delicate little thing, it’s clear he’s not made for battle. Also, I don’t want to call him a coward, but he is skittish, even with us!”

“ _Well_ ,” and Ori’s looking up now, and even Dori is surprise. “ _Firstly_ , elves look very delicate and they’re very skilled fighters, why couldn’t hobbits be so as well? And he’s not skittish with _all_ of us, just the ones he doesn’t know. Also, he’s never complained once, not since the handkerchief incident, not even when he’s cold or hungry. Did you know that hobbits eat six or seven full meals a day?”

“Of course I didn’t know! And whose fault is that, eh? He barely speaks!”

“And I wouldn’t either, if my company was nothing but bigoted, ignorant strangers, who constantly speak in a language I don’t understand and look down at me as if I were mud on their boots.”

He stands then, and stalks to where Bilbo’s seated, Nori patting his shoulder when they cross paths and there’s a proud grin on his face. Bofur’s wearing a matching grin and Bifur seems amused. Dwalin and Gloin look as surprised as the weaver feels.

*

The next night, Dori joins Bilbo and his small group, which now includes Kili, Fili, Bombur and, surprisingly, Balin. The hobbit is wearing Ori’s cloak and he almost looks like a child wearing their parent’s clothing; he has a tendency to forget how small Bilbo actually is.

Hardly anyone acknowledges his arrival, but Bilbo shoots him a warm smile when he sits, his curls swinging a notch and smoking pipe halfway to his mouth. And what an enchanting sight the hobbit makes.

They are all very quiet: Balin, Bombur and himself are smoking as well, Ori’s still knitting and the young princes lay sprawled in the ground, very close to each other, stargazing. Bilbo stares into the distance with a rather longing look.

It’s Fili who breaks the silnce. “Would you sing to us?”

Dori frowns for a moment, but then Bilbo hums.

“Nothing lewd, I assume.” Kili snickers at that while Fili and Bombur groan, clearly an inside joke.

“I like Bofur, I really do, but I’ve had enough of those for a lifetime.” And they all chuckle or groan at that.

The hobbit is quiet for a long moment, but just when he assumes that there will be no singing at all, he starts a merry, yet soft, song.

“The Road goes ever on and on  
Down from the door where it began.  
Now far ahead the Road has gone,  
And I must follow, if I can…”

It is a lovely song, even if Bilbo seems rather wistful, and it’s perfect for the moment and the place. Dori lets himself be lulled into calm by it, but then there’s a light to his side and Dori turns to see who’s the newcomer bringing it, but Bilbo is in the way and –

And it’s _Bilbo_ , is his startled realization. The burglar is singing with his eyes closed, peaceful and relaxed, and every inch of his exposed skin is alight with a faint, sun-like light. Dori can only gape.

He looks to the rest of the group to prove himself that what he is seeing is not a figment of his imagination. Kili and Fili continue their stargazing, while Balin smokes with his eyes closed and Bombur is focused on a smoke ring, at an inconvenient angle. Only Ori seems to notice, and he’s staring back at him. And Dori would understand surprise, shock, even fear, but he finds none of those in him. His brother’s eyes seem determined as he shakes his head.

So he refrains from saying anything and tries to turn his attention back to the song without staring too much.

*

“So…”

“I found out in Rivendell, but I haven’t said anything. I think it’s natural, a hobbit thing.”

“Who else knows?”

“Fili and Kili, maybe Bofur and Nori.”

It doesn’t seem to be a dangerous thing, just a hobbit peculiarity, like their lack of beards.

“Don’t tell anyone, please.” He’s very serious, and _pleads_. “They’re already suspicious about him and this could make things worse.”

Dori wouldn’t consider Bilbo his friend, perhaps an acquainted, but he wishes no harm for him, such a gentle, honest creature.

“And don’t tell him. I don’t think he realizes that we don’t know.”

IV

He hadn’t realized just how secluded and homesick Bilbo had felt, Bofur muses as the eagle beneath him rides the morning wind. There’s some shame at the thought that maybe he could’ve done more to include Bilbo and more so after his words about their quest, how he’d want nothing else but to see them return to their homeland. And what do you say, or do, to something like that, to such a kind creature? He only hopes that they can make it up to him and Thorin finally accepting their burglar might be the first step to achieve that.

For once, Bofur doesn’t look at Bilbo – relieved and smiling as Thorin embraces him – in search of any oddities. It wouldn’t have helped much, with the way the sunrise is almost blinding them.

*

Descending the Carrock is a feat in and of itself: they are all so tired they could fall asleep on their feet and the path is so steep they might fall all the way down; Dori has a protective grip on Bilbo’s left arm and Dwalin keeps an eye on their leader. By the time they do make it down the dreadful thing – those blasted birds – they all but drop their things, lay down in small groups –he finds Bilbo squashed between the princes and the hobbit seems rather comfy – and let exhaustion take them while Dwalin and Gandalf take first watch. After all, Oin checked their injuries – mostly minor – before their trek down the rock spire.

*

Beorn doesn’t seem to trust them and the feeling is mutual, but at least he lets them stay in his house and eat his food, and he seems quite delighted with Bilbo’s – “ _bunny”_ – presence, so they can hardly complain. And the food, even if there’s no meat, is a wonder.

They spend most of the first day there bathing in a nearby spring and resting; it’s not until sunset that they sit by the table and gather their meager belongings, meaning anything they managed to get their hands on in the goblins’ caves, which for Bilbo amounts to nothing, so the hobbit eats and then heads back to the patch of hay he’d been sleeping on, curling up like a kitten next to Ori, who is still mourning the loss of the sweater he’d been knitting for his companion.

They aren’t missing anything, really, some halfhearted jokes at most. The last few days had left them exhausted and sore, it isn’t long before they are all back to lying in the hay, staying in groups to keep warm.

But by the next morning they wake up feeling much better, as if they are finally back in the land of the living. The younger ones and their hobbit seem to be faring particularly well, as they are already at the table, eating breakfast, by the time the rest of them decide to get off their asses.

It’s a slow affair, breakfast. They eat at a measured pace, truly tasting the bread, the honey and even the milk, and it is simply amazing.

They hardly see Beorn that day, not that they mind that, as they rest and Oin takes a good look at their healing cuts and bruises. Thorin, Dwalin and Bilbo seem to have the worse wounds, and they let out a collective gasp when Bilbo takes his shirt off at the healer’s command, baring his extensively bruised back and chest, product of falling down a cave _twice_. Thorin seems to take special care where their burglar is concerned from then on and isn’t that funny.

*

They are all seated at the table and a handful of chairs around it, having a good time, when it finally happens. Considering all that has happened lately and how Bilbo had felt before all that, it really doesn’t surprise him that it didn’t happen before. It also doesn’t surprise him Fili, Kili and Ori already knowing about it.

It starts slowly, a flickering, weak thing and it goes unnoticed at first, thanks to the candlelight. It’s a while after Thorin takes a seat next to Bilbo that the glowing slowly, but steadily, begins to intensify. But nobody is paying much attention to their hobbit, focused as they are in Gloin’s story. It makes sense that Nori is one of the first to notice, since he’s been as suspicious about it as Bofur himself.

“How long do you think ‘til someone else notices?” The thief asks as he points towards a laughing Bilbo with his head. The dark haired dwarf simply rolls his eyes.

“I’m not betting against you.”

Nori snorts and they leave it at that. Right until Dwalin curses in Khuzdul.

Everyone turns their eyes to the warrior, smiles frozen in their faces, but he’s _gaping_ at Bilbo so everyone turns again to look at the burglar and he’s confused now, but the glowing isn’t fading just yet and –

“I told you they didn’t know,” Ori mutters to the princes and then everyone – who hadn’t known yet – let out different noises of surprise.

Thorin, in particular, looks downright flabbergasted next to their companion and, as surprising as it is, Bofur is pleased to notice Dori measuring everyone’s reactions, rather than staring in astonishment.

“You- You are glowing!” His own brother exclaims, amazed.

“What?” Bilbo looks at himself – at his hands and legs only, he notes – and then at everyone else, frowning. “Well, yes?”

Bofur sighs; seems like it will be his job to be the sensible one this time.

“They didn’t know, Bilbo.”

And Bilbo frowns at him for a brief moment before understanding sinks in, followed by a surprised indignation that he soon turns to an amused wizard. The miner is sad to see the shine ebb away.

“You didn’t tell them?”

“Well, obviously, I didn’t,” and he’s _smirking_.

“ _Obviously_!  Gandalf, why didn’t you tell them?!”

“Why didn’t _you_?”

He can hear Bilbo’s teeth snapping close and see Thorin flinch at the disturbing sound. The hobbit is flushed and wide eyed and it lasts for perhaps twenty seconds before he closes his eyes and sighs.

“Alright then, my mistake.” He rubs his forehead, features relaxing, and opens his eyes to address them properly. “I’m sorry. I, well, assumed Gandalf had told you. We hobbits, we’re not used to, uh, share _this_ with foreigners.”

“It’s alright,” Kili reassures him, even as Gloin makes an odd, strangled noise.

It’s Balin who asks what everyone must be wondering, has wondered since finding out, even if subconsciously: “Is it a normal thing for hobbits? _And_ , is it dangerous?”

Bilbo frowns again, concerned this time, and Gandalf’s smirk wavers.

“Well, yes. We shine when we are happy, only it’s different for everyone. I don’t know if it’s dangerous though,” he looks at Gandalf at that, “not where other races are concerned.”

“It’s unheard of. Hobbits don’t deal with other races too often and when they do it’s a short and perfunctory affair. We’ll just have to see how it goes.”

V

They spend the first handful of days and evenings in Mirkwood making Bilbo laugh as much as they can: he can shine brighter than their fires. Bilbo knows their intent; they couldn’t just keep it hidden from him, after how they’d treated him before Azog honesty is a small compensation.

It’s a very lovely thing, Bombur muses. At first they had thought it was an uniform, steady sort of glow – like gold under the light –, but after closer inspection and keeping Bilbo happy for as long as they can, they realized that it was more of a glittering – like diamond dust –. It was a breathtaking sight.

But, as the days go on and the forest grows darker, Bilbo starts to _dim_ in tandem with the company’s growing foul mood. Their hobbit is now a flickering candle surrounded by utter darkness.

*

The elven dungeons aren’t that bad, from _their_ perspective.

While they get to rest – on bare stone, but rest nonetheless – and eat three sizable meals a day, Bilbo dashes around the stone-carved halls, as quiet as he manages, and steals scraps of food as not to be discovered. He is thin and there are bags under his eyes, and he is so miserable he looks beyond dim: he looks like a shadow.

They can’t make him laugh, because the sound could warn the guards of Bilbo’s presence and hope would be lost then. They can, however, save some of their food – bread and fruit, mostly – to ensure that their hobbit won’t faint from starvation.

And if anyone other than Bombur notices Bilbo flickering ever so weakly whenever he comes around after spending time with Thorin, nobody mentions it and neither does he.

VI

Nobody mentions it, but he can tell everyone knows it. It’s so clear his companions would have to be blind to miss it and yet, Nori ponders, there’s nothing obvious about it.

Somehow, ever since the beginning of their quest, Thorin and Bilbo have always orbited around each other. It had been bad at first: while most of them had kept to themselves, neither welcoming nor isolating Bilbo, Thorin had been downright disrespectful and cruel, explicitly rejecting him. But after Bilbo’s confrontation with Azog, their leader’s opinion of the hobbit had shifted drastically. Bilbo had proved his worth and earned himself an honorific place within the Company; Thorin trusted him and seek both his advice and company. And even so…

There were no gentle touches or longing looks, sweet words whispered into each other’s ears or any of the things from romantic stories. It was all rather subtle: the gleam in Thorin’s eyes, the shared smiles and fleeting glances, the purposeful proximity and, most important, the soft, warm glow that Bilbo seemed to cast constantly now and only grew stronger around the exiled king.

They all accept it without any hints of jealousy or resignation because, even though Bilbo’s in love with Thorin, he has come to love all of the Company if the way he shines for all of them is any indication and that’s enough for them.

*

Laketown is bleak: the sky is grey and the water is dirty, the whole town seems about to _crumble_ underneath their feet and its people are miserable, the Master is a greedy man and Bard seems very tempted to just shoot all of them – minus Bilbo, perhaps –. All in all, a lovely place.

“You should all be thankful they didn’t throw us into a cell,” Bilbo answers their complaints easily, curled up in a couch, smothered in blankets and with a steaming cup of tea in his hands. “They even let us stay in this house, with food and actual beds, after _months_ of sleeping in the ground.”

They all quiet down at that. Bilbo, in Nori’s humble and unbiased opinion, has turned out to be the most sensible member of the Company.

“But that doesn’t mean we have to _like_ them,” Kili mutters, beaten, from his spot right next to the hobbit, who sighs.

“Of course we don’t have to. But only because their Master and his assistant are hideous, greedy creatures doesn’t mean we should be judgmental ingrates with the whole of the town.”

And if Kili was beaten before he’s ashamed now.

Bilbo’s right, sure. The people of Laketown are poor and miserable, suffering the consequences of having an indifferent and selfish ruler. But Bilbo seems to have missed the looks a few men and women had thrown his way amongst the curious bystanders; _those_ hadn’t been mistrustful or fearful glances, those had been something far more concerning.

They could never keep the hobbit away from the rest of the world or even limit his contact with strangers. He had enjoyed their stay with the elves of Rivendell and managed to somewhat befriend both Beorn and Bard in the short time he’d met them. He’d even won himself a place in all of their hearts.

But they had never seen that kind of sentiment directed at Bilbo before and they didn’t know these people, and never mind how resourceful their burglar had proved to be, he was still the size of a man’s child and as weak as one.

“Never leave him alone, in or out of this house,” Thorin tells them that first morning, worry and fear etched in his face. And they do so, Bofur and Bombur echoing their leader’s words to the rest, but making sure Bilbo himself doesn’t hear a word about it. They will leave soon enough, after all.

*

It’s their last night in Laketown and of course there’s a party, of sorts.

They are all certain it’s only because the Master wants to stay on their good side, but there’s plenty good food and the ale is not bad at all, and they get to enjoy it all without leaving the house, expressly ignoring the Master until he leaves with his own companions. Only then, the true party begins.

They are loud and, most likely, keeping the neighbors awake, and Bilbo is so bright and laughs so much they think he’s drunk, but actually isn’t and holds his own surprisingly well. Fili is teasing a very flustered Kili with a certain red-haired elf and Bofur is drinking next to Nori, all but wrapped up around him – not that he minds, the Company knows already –. As distracted as he is by the miner, it takes what must be an embarrassing amount of time for him to catch the meaningful looks between burglar and king; it’s only a matter of moments to check that everyone else – minus an asleep Oin – has noticed as well. The chatter and the laugh don’t subside though, and Bilbo’s glow intensifies steadily.

It’s only when the fair hobbit excuses himself and climbs up the stairs that lead to the bedrooms, closely followed by Thorin, that they quiet down for a solemn moment.

VII

Bilbo looks dull, but it’s probably hard for the rest to tell with their full focus in pretty gems and gold coins. Bilbo looks _dull_ , and all of the shiny jewels in the treasure room can’t compare to the way _he_ had shined for _them_. Fili can feel his gut twisting into knots.

“This calls for celebration,” Bofur grins atop a small hill of coins, crowns and necklaces and Fili can see his own brother carefully looking at Bilbo and trying to look happy for the rest of their group at the same time.

“Bombur, is there any meat left?”

“And potatoes too!”

“Gloin, do you need help starting a fire?”

Everyone starts moving and talking then, too excited to notice the three dwarves and one hobbit rooted to their spots until they are finally alone amidst the mountains of pretty stones and crafted metal that could never amount to all the lives lost in the fire.

Ori starts crying then, a silent shake of his shoulders, and Bilbo, ever the gentle soul, approaches him and holds him in a tight, warm embrace, not caring for the tears that must be dampening his coat.

*

The fire must the warm, but he can’t actually feel it. The group is laughing and joking, but he can’t muster the energy to so much as feign a smile. And he can see Bilbo _fading away_ , even if everybody else misses it, even if _Thorin_ doesn’t see it.

“We should sing,” Gloin proposes and everyone agrees with it.

Bofur takes his flute from its place among his clothes, but everyone else has to go looking for instruments in the treasure room and when they comeback they tune them with the ease that comes from a lifetime of practicing something you love. Thorin brings back a lovely silver harp with gems incrusted along the neck.

The dwarves sing and eat and drink and sing again. They sing about long dead heroes and kings, about deeds and tragedies, about lost kingdoms and starcrossed lovers, and if it were any other time, the four of them would enjoy the songs greatly.

It must be the better part of an hour later when they finally stop to catch their breath, flushed and smiling, and it is Thorin who makes the wrong proposition.

“Maybe Bilbo would like to sing.”

His uncle is smiling, beaming at the hobbit and oblivious to what could happen, to the current mood. Fili looks at Bilbo and can’t help but think that Thorin is, in fact, an idiot because the blond looks like a wolf ready to attack. The burglar seems indecisive for a moment, looking around; he meets Fili and the prince tries to plea trough his eyes, but he knows it doesn’t make a difference when the whole of Bilbo seems to _set_. Bilbo stands, sets his shoulders and takes a deep breath.

“Home is behind  
The world ahead.”

Bilbo’s voice is a soft, bitter thing and Fili can see the momentary surprise in the faces of their group.

“And there are many paths to tread.  
Through shadow,  
To the edge of night  
Until the stars are all alight.”

The mood changes slowly, with each verse, and by the time Bilbo has pronounced “alight” the dwarves are silent, stiff and solemn, staring at the fair, gentle creature intently.

“Mist and shadow  
Cloud and shade  
All shall fade  
All shall...fade.”

Bilbo finishes with a whisper and as he turns and leaves, never looking back at them, Fili stares after him and thinks that they don’t deserve him and they never will.

VII

It’s Dwalin who finds him. After the Arkenstone and the banishment, after all armies come together at the gates of Erebor and they rally into battle – the whole Company less one –, and after Thorin goes after Azog as the reckless idiot he is and Bilbo saves him once again as if it was the one thing he’d been born to do. The battle is not over yet, stray orcs are a nuisance and wargs follow a leader of their own, but when the warrior sees Bilbo dodging an orcish blade, clumsy because of tiredness and lack of a proper training, Dwalin groans and ignores his immediate enemy in favor of saving the one who has saved them all.

He charges and nearly beheads the foul creature with one of his axes, and Bilbo looks surprised, gasping for air and looking at him as if he’d started speaking Sindarin.

“You looked like you needed some help.”

And Bilbo snorts; sure it’s not a laugh and he’s too shaken and weary, but it’s honest and he counts his blessings.

“I’m sorry to admit that I’m not very good at this.”

Dwalin is taken aback and gives him a long, thorough look. Bilbo’s covered in dark blood, there’s a cut on his left temple, a trail of dried blood below it, and every bit of bare skin is covered in scratches, bruises or mud; the coat he received in Laketown and the pants that have somehow survived since he left the Shire are tattered and torn in places and his hair is bloodied, sweaty and a complete mess. But the thing that truly strikes the dwarf is the set of his shoulders, the white-knuckled grip on Sting and the hard look in those blue eyes.

“Well,” and he has to swallow, take a breath, “you _are_ alive, so you must be good at something.”

They stay together after that, making their way towards Erebor, through blood and sweat, and wargs and goblins. Dwalin pays careful attention to Bilbo and notes the potential: though the hobbit lacks training and strength, he makes it up with his natural nimbleness and aim. If someone was to teach Bilbo how to fight, and combined with his natural skills and resourcefulness, he would become unstoppable, a force to reckon. Thank Mahal Bilbo is a good natured lad.

“How do you think they are?” Bilbo asks when they reach the foot of the mountain.

“Fili only had a cut and Kili had a broken leg, so they should be alright. Thorin was worse, but he should be fine as long as there are no internal wounds.”

At the mention of Thorin Bilbo stops abruptly and he believes it is because of what he has said, but when the warrior turns he finds hurt rather than fear in that gentle face and Bilbo’s staring at the entrance to Erebor.

“What is it?”

 “I can’t go there.” It’s but a whisper and he understands.

“Nonsense.”

“But you were there, you heard Tho –”

“And you know him better than that, you know he wasn’t in his right mind.”

Bilbo turns to him then, skeptic. “And is he, now? In his right mind, that is.”

Dwalin stares back. “He’s better and he understands what you did.”

The hobbit’s face softens a notch and he follows the warrior all the way inside the mountain.

*

Fili is alright and Kili is not far behind, his leg healing fast. Thorin is a different lot: he has several wounds and has lost a lot of blood, he looks white as paper and breaths so softly you must pay close attention not to miss it.

Thorin sleeps for six days and Bilbo stays by his side at all times, even in sleep. Dwalin feels a very soft pang of jealousy and he suffocates it, _crushes_ it, as fast and best he can. He has no claim over Bilbo.

On the seventh morning, Thorin wakes up. Bilbo rushes out of the room – looking for Oin, Dwalin, anyone – and then vanishes. Dwalin would punch him if he wasn’t the fragile little thing he is; instead he stays by Thorin’s side until his older cousin falls asleep again and only then he sets out to search for their burglar. It takes him the better part of an hour, and Balin’s help, to find him in the ledge just outside the hidden entrance, wrapped up in blankets.

“Never thought you’d run away.”

He sits next to the bundle, laying his axes on is other side so they won’t be a bother, and takes a good look at their savior. Bilbo’s wearing new clothes – provided by Bard and fitted by Dori, he can see bits of them – and his hair – longer but not long enough yet – is perfectly clean and brushed; there’s a healing cut on his left ear and a fading bruise on his jaw; he looks small, buried in the wool blankets and capes, and he seems disorientated, staring at the general area of what once was – and hopefully will be again – Dale. He stays silent and Dwalin sighs.

“He asked for you. For _you_ , not your neck, just so we’re clear.”

Bilbo takes a shaky breath and his eyes widen, but his gaze remains on the ruins. Dwalin frowns.

“You’re afraid.”

“Yes.”

“Of what?”

Bilbo tilts his head in that almost imperceptible he has come to associate with deep thinking, and remains quiet for a long moment.

“I’m afraid of what he might say, and of how he might look at me. A look can tell a lot.”

*

Bilbo postpones his encounter with Thorin for when he feels better, and can actually stay awake for longer than ten minutes. In the meantime he spends his time doing just about everything: he helps Bombur with the meals and keeps Kili company when Fili’s busy, and he helps Balin and Bard keeping some semblance of diplomacy between dwarves and men, which is very needed considering the survivors of Laketown are staying in the mountain for the winter. Dwalin hardly sees him that week, dashing from one meeting to another, asking men and women if they have everything they need, and carrying trays filled with food to Kili’s room. Most of the time, he eats with Kili, which is why they only catch each other when they are both keeping the prince company.

“Have you visited Uncle yet?” Kili asks one evening, four days after Thorin’s awakening. Bilbo shakes his head, mouth full with soup. The warrior stays quiet, expecting an explanation.

“Oin says he’s still weak and can’t stay awake for long. I don’t want to pressure or stress him, so I’ll wait for a few more days.”

And it’s four days later that Dwalin heads to Thorin’s room and catches the sound of the hobbit’s voice from the corridor. He stops and listens for a moment, the words incomprehensible but the voice soft, and then turns on his heel and heads to Kili’s room instead.

VIII

He might’ve never left Laketown and its surroundings, but Bard as seen many a thing in his lifetime. He has seen elves and dwarves, and orcs and goblins, and wargs and giant spiders; he has seen love, hatred and everything in between; he has seen mothers and fathers grieving their children, and boys and girls losing their parents; he has seen life and death and everything that comes with both.  He has never seen what he is seeing now.

The first dwarf caravan reaches Erebor and with it plenty of supplies. It is the first occasion worthy of celebration they’ve had in the last four or so months and so they celebrate.

It’s a rather small thing, with very little wine and lots of singing and dancing, and most – dwarves and men – are tired because of their daily labors, and soon Bard finds himself in the sole company of _the_ Company and a handful of nearly passed out men. He decides that the dwarves, and hobbit, seem like a better option compared to a snoring and mumbling Dorian.

“Well, if it isn’t the dragon slayer!”

He’s welcomed by a cheerful brunette dwarf, one of the young ones who might or might not be a prince, and everyone turns to him. He confronts their stares with as much aplomb as he can muster but soon finds that it’s not needed, if Bilbo’s encouraging smile is anything to go by. He greets them, bows his head in the general direction of Thorin, who bows back, and takes a seat next to a white haired dwarf – Dori, he believes – as they all greet him back with varying degrees of enthusiasm. The conversations continue, as if they hadn’t stopped talking at all, and Bard finds himself conversing amicably with the younger dwarves, who seem very interested – specially the one named Ori – about Laketown’s history and traditions. He is distracted, so it’s understandable that he doesn’t notice at first, but when he _does_ he finds he can’t look away, surprised.

“Bilbo,” he breathes, “you’re, you –”

The table falls silent and the hobbit turns at his name, appearing confused and worried for a moment, and then there seems to be some sort of understanding and he sighs, eyes closed, in clear aggravation.

“Yes, Bard, I’m glowing.” Everyone else seems amused by that.

And sure enough, Bilbo casts a light, golden glow, like a soft sun, and _that_ is something the man has never seen before. But it doesn’t seem to be a threat and the rest is relaxed, apparently used to it, so Bard takes a deep breath, drinks his beer and relaxes as well, readies himself for another round of questions. If he glances in Bilbo’s way every once in a while, the other either fails to notice or doesn’t mind at all.

IX

He reaches the Shire sometime before summer’s arrival and sends a letter to Erebor in the grasp of a crow as soon as his business with the Thain – namely, the issue of Bilbo’s property and belongings – is discussed. He receives a reply not three weeks later with Bilbo’s answers to each and every doubt of Gandalf’s and his grandfather’s. There’s also an invitation, but he has his reserves about relaying it to the old chief.

_“It is our shared belief that the coronation must occur as soon as possible, to settle things, sort of speak, between Dain’s dwarves and those from Erebor, but the marriage can wait until Princess Dis’ arrival. Because of this, I would like you to pass the formal invitation inside the envelope to my grandfather and give me an answer as soon as you can manage, in order to arrange transport with Dis’ caravan.”_

The marriage is no surprise, he finds; Bilbo and Thorin’s feelings for each other had been anything but subtle, from what he had seen. He isn’t concerned about what Bilbo’s family might think of the union either: those who truly care about him won’t mind it and Bilbo used to have a reputation, back when he was young, so it will come as no surprise.

He’s more concerned about a small group of Shire hobbits traveling among dwarves. Bilbo, sure, he pushed him right into it, but he’s a different lot from most hobbits, mistrustful of outsiders both by nature and nurture. He expresses his concerns to the Thain, some two days later, when he gives him and his wife the invitation.

“It depends on the hobbit,” Adamanta tells him after sipping her tea. She doesn’t seem surprised at all. “We can’t go, I’m afraid, we’re too old.”

“Mirabella could go with one or two of her children and Bilbo has always been fond of little Primula.”

“One or two Baggins should go as well.”

After that is only a matter of asking the right hobbits: Mirabella goes – mostly to make sure this dwarf of Bilbo’s is good enough for her favorite sister’s only son – and nobody can stop Dodinas and Primula from going with their mother, and of course there’s Fortinbras, trying to look bored with the whole thing but clearly very excited at the prospect of travelling; on the Baggins side, he counts Linda, Bilbo’s aunt, and Falco, a cousin; Gandalf makes the sensibly invites Hamfast Gamgee, who agrees after some coercing from his wife. The wizard sends the reply shortly after Hamfast’s agreement and then sets off to Erebor once again, knowing that he will not reach it before the coronation, but hoping that summer and the borrowed horse will help him reach the mountain within three months or so.

*

He arrives at Erebor four months later and, although is not bursting with life or some such, the place looks far better, lived in. He tells Bilbo as much, shortly after they meet in the throne room.

“We’ve been going on about rebuilding Dale as well, so research has been made and debris have been removed, and some of the old stone will be reused. We’ve also been working with crops, though that’s slow work.”

Bilbo’s wearing a short, white dwarven tunic and pants like the ones he’d been wearing when he left the Shire, a very light outfit fitting for the sunny day, even though he wears a sweater – most likely knitted by Ori – inside the cool mountain. He wears two braids, one on each side of his face, nearly hidden between his wild, longer curls. Gandalf knows one of them holds a bead that associates him with Thorin’s Company, a simple golden thing with a tiny ruby incrusted on it, and the other one holds a gift from the King himself, one of two silver beads that bind them together as partners. He also knows that in a few months’ time he will be wearing a third braid, adorned with a bead made of mithril, that will brand him as the Consort Under the Mountain. The hobbit looks healthy and content, though it’s difficult to tell if he’s glowing with how heavily lit the corridors and rooms they pass are.

“Will you stay for long?”

“Until the wedding, at least. When will it be?”

“We’re expecting Dis to arrive within two or three months. The ceremony will occur then.” And there’s something in Bilbo’s voice, an eagerness that reminds him of Belladonna speaking about her own marriage and he can’t help the smile playing with his lips.

They part when they reach the room in which Gandalf will be staying, Bilbo needed at a meeting between elves and dwarves and the wizard in need of rest after his journey. Bilbo shows him the room, already acquainted with the habitable parts of Erebor, and then retreats to the door, hovering for a moment.

“You will be joining us for supper, yes?”

“Of course I will! I wish to meet all of you once again, catch up. And I might have a thing or two to tell you myself.”

Bilbo looks at him with a raised eyebrow, but doesn’t press any further.

“Well then. We don’t usually eat at the diner itself. There’s a private chamber, next to the kitchens, you can reach it through the corridor, but I will send a valet nonetheless.” He then excuses himself, giving him a last smile, and leaves.

*

By the time he reaches the private dining room, most of the Company is already there. Fili and Kili are rather effusive with their welcoming and everyone else seems pleased with his presence. He takes a seat next to Balin and they converse about the latest happenings within the mountain as they wait for the others to arrive; Thorin, Dwalin and Nori are caught in a meeting concerning the kingdom’s safety, while Bilbo and Ori are discussing the issue of agriculture with a handful of dwarves and men.

“Bilbo and Kili have been of great help with the elves,” and the now Lord then adds, with a smirk, “not that Thorin is _ecstatic_ about it.”

“It will be a sunny day in Mordor when he is.”

Soon enough the others appear, taking a momentary detour to greet Gandalf, Bilbo and Ori being the last. And whereas Bilbo would’ve sat next to Ori or Bofur once upon a time, now he sits between Thorin – whom he greets warmly – and Oin. The group itself is pleasantly mixed: at the beginning of their quest they would have created related – by blood or friendship – clusters, but now Ori sits next to Dwalin, and Fili discusses the rebuilding of Erebor and Dale with Bifur. The wizard is indeed pleased.

They exchange stories and the princes take it upon themselves to recount the coronation, which prompts many groans from the rest, equally aggravated and fond. It is long after they have finished eating that Gandalf brings himself to share his findings on a certain matter.

“I spoke with the Thain of the Shire,” he begins, “on a subject that, I believe, concerns us all.”

He gains their attention instantly and he focuses his gaze at a startled and curious Bilbo.

“He told me that the only place where hobbits glow, unrestrained, surrounded by other races is with the men of Bree, and yet only on occasion, with those few they trust. There have been a handful of cases, throughout history, but not much is known about those.”

He sips his wine then, studying his companions’ reactions for a moment.

“There is a story, however, about two hobbits, a young marriage, that left the lands of Bree in search of adventure. They wandered the wilderness and the lands of elves and men until they finally established themselves in a settlement in the outskirts of Rohan. They were very loved by their neighbors and glowed freely there, to the men’s and women’s delight. However, when they left the village to visit his relatives, many of their closest friends fell ill: they would shiver from cold and then sweat as if feverish; they would display fatigue, insomnia, agitation and a lack of motivation, and they claimed that their sight had grown dark, as if a veil was before their eyes. They only recovered at the hobbits’ return.”

He falls silent then, lets his words sink. They all seem pensive rather than surprised and it is Kili who breaks the silence.

“Was that the worse that happened? Because you make it sound a lot like an addiction and those can be very dangerous.” The prince chances a glance in Thorin’s way and Gandalf understands perfectly.

“From what the Thain told me, it was. The hobbits lived happy and peaceful among those good natured men until their last days; there were never any unsavory incidents.”

“Then it’s all right as long as nobody leaves for too long,” concludes Oin. “It could be far worse.”

*

Gandalf keeps a close eye on the Company while he stays in the mountain and indeed it could all be far worse.

They are all very close to Bilbo, but never overwhelming or possessive, and they’re protective and gentle with him, Dwalin and Gloin teaching him how to fight whenever the three of them have the time. They even let him visit Thranduil on one occasion, though that one’s on Bilbo giving them threatening glares whenever someone mentioned it. He has heard stories about “that mad hobbit frightening the court”.

X

The largest caravan coming from Ered Luin yet arrives almost a year after the reclaiming of Erebor, and with it come Dis and Gloin’s and Bombur’s families.

And then there are the hobbits. There are seven of them: two aunts and four cousins of Bilbo’s and the only one that doesn’t seem to surprise or intimidate their burglar is his young cousin Primula; the only Halfling that isn’t related to Bilbo is a certain Hamfast, his neighbor and gardener.

With everyone there, preparations for the wedding begin. It will be a small affair, but they will be housing not only the hobbits, but Beorn, Radagast and a handful of elves from Mirkwood, to his personal mortification, within a week.

“That cousin of yours seems to get along just fine with my boys,” he comments as they ready for sleep some three days later.

Bilbo hums. “She’s like that, a lot like my mother, let me tell you.”

Thorin considers it for a moment. “Were you like that, when you were younger?”

The fair hobbit turns to look at him with a shy smile and Thorin feels that warmth he has felt ever since Beorn’s, over a year ago.

“Well, I never had the opportunity to travel outside Hobbiton, but I explored all of the land and befriended some elves back then and – Oh, don’t give me that look!”

Bilbo laughs, the now ever-present glittering intensifying for a brief moment, and he can believe Gandalf’s story about the possible addiction.

“Your amiability towards the elves troubles me,” he replies, half-hearted, and the hobbit laughs some more.

“That amiability has helped us in more than one occasion, need I remind you.”

Bilbo crawls into bed, sighing happily when he lies down between the sheets, and Thorin follows close behind. They adjust until they’re facing each other, the way they always do, and he still amazes at how well they fit together.

“She likes them and the rest of the Company. And Dis, which, I must admit, alarms me.”

He snorts in amusement, although he shares Bilbo’s concern: Dis is a handful and so is Primula, the havoc they would provoke together.

“And she’s very welcomed here, as the rest.”

Bilbo comes closer and closes his eyes in contentment.

“I know. Everyone has been very kind to them.”

“Yes, well, we’ve learned from past mistakes, I say.”

His companion laughs softly, sneaking his arm around the dwarf’s waist.

“Glad to hear that.”

Bilbo’s breathing evens out and his hold lessens and Thorin basks in the warmth and the glow until he falls asleep as well.

*

The day before the wedding is madness.

Both Bilbo and he have a clustered schedule and the only activity related to the wedding is a rehearsal at midday, but between dashing, meeting, writing, hearing, deciding and quite simply ruling they find time enough to receive their wedding presents. The first ones to offer them are Dis, Dain and the hobbits – and Bilbo looks ecstatic at Hamfast’s seeds and Primula’s blank book – and later come Gandalf, Bard, Beorn, Thranduil and Radagast.

They meet the rest of the Company at different moments of the day. The first is Balin, who is as busy as they are, but finds a minute shortly after Thorin’s first meeting and gifts him a finely crafted battle horn and to Bilbo a beautiful quill, after which comes a stream of truly devoted gifts, including a proper shield and a well thought bow from Kili, a set of ivory smoking pipes from Gloin, two new coats – dark blue for Thorin, a rich green for Bilbo – from Dori and gem studded daggers from Nori. Bilbo even receives a compilation of dwarven songs and stories, written in both Westron and Khuzdûl, from Ori, and when did the busy scribe managed to put that together is a mystery.

Thorin sees the presents for what they are, as must Bilbo. These are not traditional wedding offerings: these are tokens of love and worship.

If things were different, if _he_ was different or if it wasn’t Bilbo, or if their bonds weren’t what they are, his rage would know no limits. As it is, Bilbo’s as much the Company’s as his, the same way they are all Bilbo’s, so Thorin sees the mutual love and devotion and understands it, and chuckles when _their_ hobbit starts fussing about “what on earth” to give Bofur and Nori for their own marriage.

*

Later that same week, Kili will tell him many details he’d noticed during the ceremony, such as how surprised Thranduil and Tauriel – seated next to Kili, to his eternal bafflement – had been at Bilbo’s glow, despite been warned of it, and Beorn’s “congratulations, bunny” that only a few of them had caught over the standing ovation, and Bard, Radagast and the hobbits bonding over mushrooms, of all things.

Thorin, for his part, hardly remembers their presence and nearly forgets his vows, to Bilbo’s amusement. It is hard to cling to any train of thought and he blames the hobbit for it, for a small part of him is desperately trying to remember all the words he has to say, in the order he has to pronounce them, while the rest of him is helplessly submitting to Bilbo, doing his best to commit his image to memory: the fine white and green clothing he wears – a mix of both their races traditions, at Dori and Mirabella Brandybuck’s insistence – and the loose golden curls with the two – three, by the end of the ceremony – nearly hidden braids, his amazed smile and the warm small hands between his own, and the sun-like glitter – that seems to nearly blind everyone but their companions, Beorn and the two wizards –. He treasures every word and sound and look that Bilbo throws his way, and by the end of the day, laying in their bed, naked and warm in each other’s arms, the Consort Under the Mountain confides in him that he’d done very much the same thing.

**Author's Note:**

> Aaaaand! Told ya it was odd, but it's my first baby in a long time and I kinda liked it. Hope you (yes, you) liked it as well.  
> First, the glaring mistakes. English is not my first language (not that I'm any better with Spanish, but), so do let me now of all the mistakes you will undoubtedly find (please include the section you found them, or I'll go mad looking for them).  
> Also, I ignore hatred, but appreciate constructive comments. Anything will do really (the pace, the story, the characters), tell me anything that might've tick you off.  
> Have a lovely week everybody <3


End file.
